


The Twenty-Five Gifts of Stiles Stilinski

by knw



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Knotting, Knowing Derek, M/M, Minor Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Oblivious Stiles, Post-Season/Series 04, Romantic Comedy, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knw/pseuds/knw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows Stiles only starts stockpiling gifts when he has it bad; now he's started getting gifts for Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Twenty-Five Gifts of Stiles Stilinski

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribblemoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/gifts), [MoonriddlerMim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonriddlerMim/gifts).



> Underage is purely for Stiles being 17.
> 
> Initially written as a series of connected advent drabbles for the wonderful Scribs and Mim; not third-party beta'd but I hope you enjoy as much as they and I did. Massive thanks to both of them for their feedback through out.

Stiles had picked up the first gift by accident really. He and Scott had gone to McDonald's with Kira and Malia, and the girls had gotten Happy Meals. Stiles hadn't the least idea what the theme had been, but the little toys had been plushie animals of the forest with a little deer and a bunny appearing from their boxes.

Because Malia was Malia, she'd just laughed and left the gift of the deer whilst Kira cooed over her bunny. Malia was more interested in focusing on her food so she'd gone back for a second meal when she realised how little Kira was actually eating by having a Happy Meal. The second box had been tossed in Stiles' direction once the food had been pillaged.

Stiles had just grinned over at Scott when Scott looked amused, then looked into the box curiously and blinked. The new plushie was a little black wolf with bright blue eyes.

"You okay, Stiles?" Kira had asked, smiling sweetly at him. "You can have more of my fries if you like?"

"Oh! Me!" Malia had grabbed a handful before Stiles even had chance to respond - practically half of Kira's original portion size.

"Think I'm good," Stiles replied, trying not to laugh at Kira's shocked expression. He pocketed the little wolf when he didn't think the others were looking, propping his chin in his hand. "Can't rag on the old man for eating crap if I'm being worse."

Kira nodded, and tugged her remaining fries out of Malia's reach.

Stiles grabbed his coke for a sip when he realised Scott was giving him a look. It was a new look in Scott's repertoire - the perceptive look. He had a sinking feeling his ears were reddening as he mouthed 'what?'

Scott just shook his head and looked amused, again, so Stiles poked his tongue out at him and determined to forget about the matter right then.

When he got home, he popped the little wolf on top of his dresser figuring he might pass it on to Derek later just to see his face. And if Stiles was already calling it 'Sour wolf' in his head, well that was Stiles' business.

* * *

The second present was done on purpose, but it wasn't particularly a present to Stiles' mind. It boiled down to being more about catering to his own sweet tooth than anything.

As usual, he was with Scott when they stopped into the local store to stock up on snacks for their movie marathon. Stiles was pretty determined to make Scott watch Star Wars at last.

"Here you go, man," Scott said, tossing a bag of Reese's into the cart alongside the bottles of fizz and chips and everything else.

"Make it two," Stiles replied, scanning the other peanut-buttery treats thoughtfully.

"So not eating crap has gone out the window, huh?" Scott asked, and Stiles could tell he was being laughed at.

"Pfft," Stiles dismissed, waving his hand. "Not that, but Derek just steals them the whole night so I may as well get him his own or I get deprived."

"So you're buying Derek Hale chocolate?" Scott asked, and that was definitely laughter.

"No," Stiles disagreed. "I'm buying me chocolate, but I'm buying an extra margin of safety."

"Did you just economics at me to avoid the subject of you buying Derek chocolate?" Scott was giving him a look. "You know you could just tell him to stop?"

"And have him threaten to 'rip out my throat with his teeth'?"

"He doesn't do that anymore."

"He might over Reese's," Stiles disagreed. "You don't know. You don't understand the Reese's love. Plus, Braeden."

"He doesn't seem that cut up about her to me." And Scott had a point. Derek didn't seem particularly perturbed by Braeden's departure to pursue the desert wolf, but then Derek wasn't exactly a big sharer.

"He has enough man-pain to deserve some Reese's," Stiles told Scott, and reached another pack from the shelf just to prove his point.

Scott (wisely in Stiles' opinion) kept his mouth shut this time, and they carried on shopping. It wasn't like they really had much left to get.

As it happened, (because fate was determined that Scott would be uncultured forever) attack of the pixies superseded Star Wars that evening. So 3am saw Stiles tossing packs of Reese's down beside the plushie wolf before he totally face-planted on his bed and zonked out from everything.

* * *

The third gift was really more of a practical necessity than a gift. Stiles had deemed it a necessity after one memorable Saturday afternoon when a certain wolf he knew rocked up on the back porch in full wolf form with burrs matted in his fur everywhere.

"What the hell did you even do?" Stiles asked, because Derek could probably hold a better conversation when he was all wolfed out than when he was human. "Roll around in the dirt?"

If it had been anyone but Derek, Stiles would have dubbed the open mouth and lolling tongue a grin. Hell, he knew Derek and he still dubbed it as such.

"You can't come in the house like that," Stiles told him, folding his arms across his chest.

Derek took two steps closer and actually whined.

"Dude, no, you'll get shit everywhere and if you moult then my Dad'll kill me," Stiles insisted.

Derek huffed and tried to nudge past Stiles for the door. (Of course Stiles could tell he wasn't really trying from the fact he didn't succeed, because like hell could Stiles have kept Derek out if he'd wanted in the house.)

"Derek, I'm warning you, set one paw in the house and I swear to god I will go at you with a doggy brush."

It was around there that things went wrong, because instead of being discouraged, Derek had bashed his head against Stiles' side like some pet instead of a freaking person, and then shoved past him into the house.

Stiles flailed just a little and then hurried in after him. "Oh my god, I don't seriously have - you cannot just track dirt through the house!"

And then Stiles learnt something new: wolves, or at least wolves that are Derek, could roll their eyes. Derek added another huff for good measure and raised one filthy paw for Stiles.

Stiles looked several times between Derek's face and the paw before shaking his head and swiping a big cross through the air. "No, no way, I am not cleaning you up. Did it say maid service on the door? You got yourself into a muddy mess, you go shift and dunk yourself in a pond."

Derek actually growled at him then, lowering the paw towards the new, creamy carpet that he'd not yet hit since he'd been good enough to stop on the mat.

Stubborn as Stiles was, he couldn't bear the idea of his Dad having to fork out over the carpet again so he darted a step forward. "Okay, okay, stop it. I'll go get a bloody cloth but this sure as hell isn't becoming a regular thing."

Derek had the gumption to look smug about the fact as Stiles turned on his heel and stomped out of the living room.

That had been the precursor to how Malia found them an hour later, with Derek, still a wolf, sprawled across the rug, and Stiles knelt next to him picking burrs from his fur whilst avengers played on the TV. She raised one eyebrow, and damn if she didn't look amused whilst Derek tensed next to him.

Stiles met her eye, jaw set mulishly. "Do not even start. I was blackmailed."

Malia, the traitor, laughed. "Don't blame him. He looks ready to fall asleep."

And it was true, Derek was relaxing again on the rug. It drew Stiles' attention to catch his tail flicking happily.

"Maybe I can have a turn later?" Malia suggested, tossing Stiles a wink.

Not exactly what Stiles had expected her to say and he looked up in surprise to catch the wink, and then she was carrying on upstairs with her books.

Stiles would probably have insisted that he bought the brush and comb from the pet store later based on Malia's invitation, but it was a wagging black tail he'd had in his mind.

The tools ended up settled by the Reese's and black wolf plushie, just in case. Stiles didn't think his fingers could handle such delicate picking ever again. So yeah, just in case...

* * *

If the third gift had been a practical necessity, the fourth gift was an utterly necessary necessity because Stiles could not deal with Derek Hale's penis.

Seriously, what had his life come to that a sentence like that had a place in it?

It began with the fact that despite Stiles' insistence that Derek's visits in wolf form would not be regular, Derek had continued to turn up as a wolf anyway. (Admittedly, Stiles had kind of seen that coming, hence the brushes.)

Somehow, that had segued into Stiles pointing out (in a less than sane moment) that Derek could always visit as a human. Or change into a human during the visit, maybe. Stiles was drawing the line at brushing his hair though.

Derek had huffed (his favourite form of expression as a wolf!), but the next visit he turned up with actual clothes. He totally proceeded not to shift at all, but it was progress.

Once Derek left, Stiles had taken the clothes upstairs to his room to put out of the way. He hadn't been being nosey or anything, but the lack of underwear hadn't been difficult to spot when Derek had brought one top and one bottoms.

And that was how Stiles Stilinski ended up going shopping because of Derek Hale's penis and the fact there needed to be an appropriate number of layers between them in order for Stiles' brain not to fixate entirely inappropriately.

Fast forward to now and Stiles' amazing plan was falling to pieces.

"What?" Derek demanded, striding into the room and holding up the offending article of clothing. The offending article being a pair of incredibly yellow and blue wolverine boxers that Stiles had thought were hilarious and tucked in with Derek's pants and and top only hours earlier.

The major debilitating factor in Stiles responding to the demand was the fact Derek was butt naked. Not just commando, as had been implicitly threated. Butt naked.

"Oh my god, dude, no!" Stiles clapped his hands over his eyes. "Bad Derek. Penis!"

"What?" Derek repeated.

"Penis!" Stiles squawked, still hiding. "Bad boy!"

"I'm not a dog, Stiles, and I'm not wearing these," Derek told him. He was probably folding his arms, making his biceps bulge and looking all muscular but Stiles. Was. Not. Looking.

"I don't care," Stiles replied. "Put your penis away. The point was for you to put your penis away. What if my dad comes in? What if Malia comes in? She's your cousin! Oh my god."

Derek sighed. "Stiles, I would hear them."

"And it's okay for me to see your penis?" Stiles hunched up. "Oh my god. How many times have you made me say penis."

"I haven't made you do anything."

"Stop talking and put your clothes on! Bad Derek."

"I'm not wearing the boxers," Derek repeated firmly.

"Fine, fine!" Stiles was trying not to shout but he was a bit desperate by that point. Derek's penis was Right There. "Just put them with the other stuff and get dressed."

"Stiles." Derek's tone was one of censure. "I'm not wearing the boxers-"

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but a hand covered it. And crap but that meant the penis was closer. The hand had probably even touched the penis!

"--but thank you for the thought," Derek finished and released him.

It took five long minutes after Derek had creaked back up the stairs for Stiles to be willing to open his eyes. He'd thought the boxers had been amazing, but now he had nothing but resentful glares for them when he went into his room at the end of the night. They'd been meant to protect him from the penis. They had failed.

* * *

After the whole mess around gift four, Stiles had half expected Derek to stop coming over or something. Except that he didn't, and that lead to the fifth gift(s). Not that Stiles had yet classed any of the things he'd acquired as gifts, because that would be strange.

Strange like the way Derek kept turning up.

Stiles had been gaming when Derek turned up this time, stumbling up from the sofa when Derek scratched at the door and opening enough for Derek to trot in and off up the stairs without a by your leave. Stiles had just sat down again and carried on gaming.

It was about two minutes after that when Derek had returned, sitting down in his dad's seat and picking up the book his dad had left on the coffee table.

Stiles shot him a glance from the corner of his eye. "Hi."

Derek glanced up over the book. "Hi."

"You're back," Stiles observed, eyes dropping to the clothes that Derek was wearing. Top and bottoms.

"No, Stiles, I am not wearing the boxers," Derek informed him mildly, turning a page as if he could possibly have read one already.

Stiles choked.

Derek glanced over the book, expression cautious. "Was I not meant to be back?"

"No-no," Stiles flailed a hand, his cheeks burning. "You're very welcome."

Derek nodded and settled back with his book.

Stiles glanced between Derek and the games console, licking his lips. Normally this would be the point where he made conversation, except this was Derek, and Derek apparently wanted to read his dad's book.

"So," Stiles began, then cursed himself because he wasn't sure where to take it. "You're back."

"I am," Derek agreed, turning another page. "You can carry on playing."

Stiles made a face. "Gaming, dude. It's not my little pony."

"I'm well aware that you're not a child, Stiles," Derek told him, still behind the book.

Stiles shifted, unsure how to take that comment. It was a weird comment, and that wasn't just something in his head.

"Loft too quiet or something?" Stiles tried.

"It's fine," Derek replied. "You invited me."

"I did?" Stiles winced when Derek looked up at him with one of those expressions. "Why yes, yes, I did, you're right. And now you're here. Reading. Here and reading a book."

"Trying to read a book," Derek corrected, pointedly.

Stiles really didn't know how to go about asking Derek why he was there. Particularly since Derek didn't seem inclined to talk.

"Is it a good book?" Stiles asked. He suspected it was some dense detective thriller thing. He wasn't sure why his dad liked them so much since it seemed like taking his work home with him.

"Not my usual," Derek allowed.

Stiles gave Derek time to elaborate, but he didn't so Stiles asked, "Your usual? You read a lot?"

"When I'm not overrun by teenagers," said Derek. "Aren't you in the middle of your game?"

"Yes..." Stiles looked down at his controller. "What is your usual?"

"Pseudo-historical fantasy," Derek replied. "Tolkien, for example."

"I like Tolkien," Stiles said, scratching the back of his neck.

Derek didn't reply again, turning another page.

Stiles stared at him for a moment, then resumed his game.

And he definitely didn't keep glancing at Derek. That was rubbish.

They carried on like that for several hours. Stiles wasn't sure, but he might have called the silence companionable. It was weird. And at the end of it, Derek just put the book down and said thanks and good night and was off.

And it totally wasn't strange that, when Stiles was out the next day, he bought a bunch of pseudo-historical fantasy novels. A Tolkien fan would probably like Raymond Feist and Terry Brooks, right? Stiles put them next to Derek's clothes and figured he'd find out soon enough.

It only made sense for him to have something to entertain his guest after all. He was just being polite.

* * *

The sixth gift is a little bittersweet for both of them because it came when Stiles was sad.

It was several weeks into Derek's visits and the date had crept up on them without warning. Stiles thought it was probably worse this year because of everything with the Nogitsune. Last year he'd reached a point where it had hurt less and he'd focused on happy memories, but that seemed to be gone.

This year, he was curled up on the couch spending quality time with Ben and Jerry when Derek arrived to scratch at the door. Stiles was at least glad he'd not been crying recently as he stumbled up from his seat to let him in, but Derek still seemed immediately concerned because he padded after Stiles, following him to his seat instead of bounding upstairs.

"Thought we'd moved past this?" Stiles asked, gesturing between them with the spoon as he tried to make light. The ice cream tub was on the coffee table. "Don't feel like being human today?"

Derek butted his head against Stiles' leg like some overgrown pet dog and whined, worried.

"I'm okay," Stiles told him softly, sighing. Derek deserved better when he was genuinely concerned.

Derek rested his chin on Stiles' knee, staring up at him.

Stiles sniffed, his hold on his tears wavering, and looked up at the ceiling. "It's stupid, 'kay?"

Derek pressed his chin down against Stiles' knee more firmly, somewhere between encouragement and insistence.

Stiles bit his lip and then gave in, scrubbing his eyes briefly. "It's just its mum's anniversary, and it's not even really her, you know, it's because I remember how scared I was with the Nogitsune and everything and I keep thinking how scared she must have been because she didn't have this werewolf best friend who might save her when she was trying to deal."

Derek immediately ducked his head under Stiles' arm, surging up to lick his cheek where the tears were slowly sliding down.

Stiles made a startled sound between a laugh and a sob, then took what Derek was offering and hugged him tight, burying his face in Derek's fur. Derek bashed the side of his face against Stiles' head, but he didn't whine or growl or wriggle.

Stiles didn't speak either, clinging and listening to Derek's heartbeat until he calmed down. It might have been minutes or hours, but Derek stayed perfectly still and just let Stiles take what he needed until he was centred again and could say, "Thank you."

Derek huffed and Stiles suspected there'd be another wolf eye roll if he'd been looking.

"Serious," Stiles said, wiping his eyes again. "Even if you licked me, dude. We may need to talk about boundaries later by the way. But I mean you understand. I wish you didn't, but I'm glad you knew what to do." Stiles paused, just breathing for a few minutes. "C'n I ask you another favour?"

Derek, who hadn't seemed the least fazed at being told off for licking, made a quizzical sound.

"D'you fancy going and changing into a human and playing video games with me whilst we eat pizza and pretend this never happened?" Stiles asked tentatively. "Could just do with more distraction than you reading tonight."

Derek licked his cheek again and woofed apparent agreement.

"Oh my god," Stiles bitched, shoving Derek away and scrubbing his cheek. "For that you get no say in the pizza toppings. Go change." Stiles pointed to the stairs. "No licking Stiles. Stiles should be a licking free zone."

Derek lolled his tongue out at Stiles, woofing again, then bounded upstairs.

Stiles glared after him, doing his best not to smile at playful Derek, but when he glanced back at the Ben and Jerry's tub of melted goop he couldn't help it. Derek had made him feel a lot better, and the least Stiles could do was buy Derek a large meaty pizza like he knew Derek loved in return.

* * *

The seventh gift was a pain in Stiles' ass to lug around, but Derek had asked for it! Nicely!

A week had passed since that sad anniversary and unexpectedly Derek had invited Stiles to a party at his loft. Stiles had regarded the text invitation dubiously, starting to reply and then abandoning it in favour of phoning Derek because he just didn't understand.

"Derek?" Stiles asked, half-convinced that Derek's phone had been stolen and someone else would answer. Don't ask him how he thought anyone got the drop on a werewolf.

"You could've text back," Derek replied, and Stiles might have gone so far as to call the tone guarded.

"...you really sent that?" Stiles is shocked. "A party? What kind of party? Who would you even invite? You only know teenagers!"

Derek hung up.

Stiles stared down at his phone and reflected that his choice of words may have been a bit rude. He bit his lip and pressed redial.

"Yes?" Derek definitely sounded annoyed.

"Sorry," Stiles said meekly. Or as meekly as he could. "That came out worse than I meant. You know I'm not that much of an ass."

Derek sighed.

"So," Stiles pressed on when Derek seemed disinclined to speak. "What kind of party?"

"What kind would you like?" Derek asked him. He sounded like he was actually asking.

Stiles bit his lip. He thought of the prom and how Lydia had nearly died. He thought of Lydia's party and the horrifying hallucination about his dad. He thought of the party at the boathouse and Malia coming so close to losing control. He thought of the last actual party in Derek's loft and paused. He knew that didn't go well for most of his friends but...

Stiles decided to go for it. "The black light party at yours was kind of cool if I hadn't, you know, had other stuff on."

"The one with lots of paint and nudity?" Derek asked him. Trust Derek to be blunt.

Stiles turned red. "Oh my god. Do not even. I know you have no problem with nudity. What were you even planning anyway, because I know it wasn't that. Scott said you roared everyone out of there at that one."

"We'll give black light a go," Derek replied, stunning Stiles. "Can you bring paint?"

"Um. Are you serious?" Stiles asked.

"Yes. Bring paint," Derek commanded.

"Magic word?" Stiles teased, almost from reflex because he was so surprised. "Who are you even inviting?"

"Invite who you like," Derek told told him. Then paused. Then added, "Please bring paint."

"I'll get it today. What time do you want me to bring it over?" Stiles asked, feeling oddly warmed that Derek had actually said it.

"After three?" Derek suggested. "Can you bring brushes, too?"

"'Course," Stiles agreed, feeling he may have entered the twilight zone. "You're not...possessed?"

"...just bring the paint, Stiles," Derek huffed and rang off.

Stiles lowered his phone, confused. Why the hell would Derek decide to throw a party and leave the theme and invite list to Stiles?

Stiles shook his head and grabbed his wallet and the keys to his jeep. He guessed he had a lot of paint to go and buy or something.

And some invites to figure out.

Jesus. He needed Lydia for this.

Stiles was back on the phone as he headed out to get the paint. Good job he had the jeep.

* * *

It would depend on your view of the rarity of Stiles' semi-nakedness as to whether its occurrence counted as the eighth gift.

Stiles had been as good as his word in any case and turned up at the loft with a lot of paint and brushes at 3pm as instructed. Derek had secured Stiles' views on the lights, the drinks and the music, then roped him in to helping set up. Stiles had even been provided with snacks, which Derek had watched him eat creepily.

"I need to go home and change at some point," Stiles told him, licking his last finger clean. Derek had given him curly fries and was his new favourite person ever.

Or was until Derek shook his head. "No."

"What?" Stiles blinked at him.

"I have something for you to wear," Derek told him. Like that was in any way normal.

"I'm not wearing it," Stiles told him flatly, because it was bound to be something humiliating.

Derek raised his eyebrows. "You haven't seen it."

"I don't need to. If this has all been some joke--"

"Stiles, shut up," Derek bit out, pinching the bridge of his nose and then turning and picking up a bag. He came over and held it out to Stiles. "Just take a look."

Stiles eyed him suspiciously but took the bag and peeked inside. It was too small to be a giant animal outfit. He hummed and reached in, pulling the clothing out and holding it up. As it transpired, he was holding a plain dark top with slashes all over it which would expose slivers of skin. "Um?"

"You don't like being topless," Derek explained, watching him. "I thought we could paint you before the party and then you could wear that. If it makes you more comfortable."

"Oh! Oh yeah, I didn't really," Stiles flushed. "Dude, you bought me clothes."

"Dude," Derek deadpanned. "You bought me underwear."

Stiles choked and threw the top at him. It was the only mature response to give. "Don't even-oh my god, it wasn't like that! Don't say it like that!"

Derek caught the top, shoulders shaking, and it took Stiles a moment to realise Derek was laughing. That Derek was messing with him.

Stiles folded his arms in annoyance. "I hate you. Just so you know."

"No, you don't," Derek replied. "Now strip off and let me paint you so it has time to dry before the party starts."

Stiles did his best not to Bambi eye at Derek because Derek Hale, with the abs of Adonis, wanted him to strip down. "I can't just paint myself in the bathroom?"

"I'm not going to judge you," Derek told him, expression showing slight concern.

Stiles huffed. "Shut up. That is not even the issue. I have an amazing body." Stiles surged out of his seat, flailing to get his top over his head and tossing it on the floor pointedly. "You should be in awe!"

And about then, Stiles realised what he'd done. And in front of whom.

Derek just laughed, but it wasn't mean. "Any particular colour you want?"

Stiles folded his arms back across his chest as casually as possible, feeling as though his ears must be glowing. "I'll trust you, this once, since the shirt's pretty cool."

Derek flashed him a wolfish grin and grabbed a selection of cans. "Come sit on the stool."

Stiles felt a little bit like a lamb amongst wolves for a the first time in ages, clambering up on the stool under Derek's watchful gaze.

"I'll start with your back, but you're gonna need to let me get at your chest once I'm done," Derek told Stiles, moving behind him. He was very close, with his breath warm against Stiles' skin.

Stiles swallowed so he wouldn't squeak. "Fine."

Yep, it was fine. All perfectly fine and normal. He was totally shivering from cold.

"Would you mind doing me, later?" Derek asked.

Stiles almost choked again; Derek had to be doing it on purpose. "Um, sure. Painting, right?"

"No, Stiles," Derek replied. "I'm totally propositioning the underage son of the sheriff right now."

"I hate you," Stiles bitched, hunching up.

"No, you don't," Derek replied easily. "And stop moving."

So Stiles just had to sit and endure as Derek worked. And not think about things, or maybe think about nasty things because his body was betraying him.

It was a totally normal reaction to another person practically stroking him, okay? Shut up.

And please, party, come soon.

* * *

It depended on your estimation of the quality of Stiles' artwork as to whether the ninth gift was a gift or not. The back up option was Lydia's epic contact list, which Stiles had been instrumental in helping Derek to access.

So it came about that Stiles had been painted with a wolf on his chest and one of his back. Both were peeking through the slashes of his shirt - which looked freaking amazing because who knew Derek could paint? - and the party had started, music pulsing through his very bones. He'd had more than one admiring comment about his paint - and several requests for him to strip down, which he denied whilst blushing furiously. He was glad it was so dark.

Malia had arrived not far into the party and was down to a crop top and hot pants, demanding Stiles paint her. He was regarding her dubiously, but only because he failed at art pretty hard. He kind of wished Derek would rescue him and paint Malia for him, but Derek had vanished at some point, probably to loom at some poor, unsuspecting soul.

"Come on, Stiles," Malia was trying to guide his hand. "I wanna go dance."

"If you hate it, it's your own fault," Stiles muttered in reply, shaking her hand off as he gave in. He was hoping that if he went for simple, he wouldn't mess it up too much. So he tried an easy vine type pattern, twisting from her waist, across her belly and chest, up her neck to her face. It actually didn't seem to be turning out too badly, and Malia looked pleased that he was doing as he'd been told.

"Looking good!" said a voice in his ear, nearly making him jump and ruin it.

Stiles looked up and broke into a grin. "Caitlin!"

"Hi!" she shouted cheerfully. "Stiles, right? Who's your friend?"

"Malia," Stiles answered, glancing to Malia. "This is Caitlin. We, err, met a while back."

"When my girlfriend died," Caitlin told her, apparently as blunt drunk as the last time they'd met this way. Except this time she was looking at Malia when she asked, "Do you wanna dance?"

Malia looked a bit surprised then glanced at Stiles, "Is that okay?"

"Sure," Stiles replied, backing off with the brush. "You're good to go."

Malia grinned and kissed his cheek before seizing Caitlin's hand and setting off.

Stiles watched them go, remembering last time he'd seen Caitlin. It was a bittersweet sort of memory.

"Ready to do me now?" Derek just seemed to materialise at his shoulder.

"Apparently I'm the paint guy tonight so sure," Stiles agreed, then turned to look at him. "Ah."

Derek was topless and the lighting was not that subdued.

"...what did you want done?" Stiles tried not to squeak. "And people love your art by the way."

"Thank you," Derek replied, apparently oblivious to the way Stiles was irrationally more flustered by Derek than any other man in the place. Stiles blamed the underwear crack. He had to snap himself out of it when Derek suggested, "Start with the tattoo?"

Stiles nodded, moving behind Derek. Colouring-in was something he could do. He had to lean close to be heard and to hear in return as he asked, "Why a wolf anyway?"

"You're pack," Derek said, shrugging and nearly smudging Stiles' work.

"Hold still," Stiles ordered, bracing a hand on Derek's broad and muscular shoulder. Stiles wished it was less in his face about its broadness and muscular-ness. "Um, thanks again by the way."

"Welcome," Derek replied.

Stiles nodded to himself and painted quickly. "What's going on your front? I vote 'Stiles is amazing'."

"No," Derek sounded amused. "You could try a wolf?"

"I'd suck," Stiles said honestly. "And we'd match."

"I can live with that," Derek replied, unclear which issue he meant. "Just try a silhouette for me?"

"Yes, sir," Stiles agreed, coming around Derek's front. "You could always help, big guy."

Derek actually hesitated - honest to god hesitation for the first time ever. "You don't mind?"

"Knock yourself out," Stiles replied. "Might teach me something."

Derek closed his big, warm hand over Stiles', guiding it as he said, "Okay, start like this..."

Stiles bit his lower lip, half entranced as Derek guided the brush. "I-I see."

Derek was giving Stiles an intense look again which made it hard to breathe.

Stiles licked his lips and glanced at the dance floor where Caitlin and Malia were dancing together. In his head he heard the echo of her questioning him over whether he liked boys.

As Stiles followed the line of the paintbrush over Derek's flesh, he wondered.

* * *

Gift ten was another gift that Derek didn't really know about, but perhaps it was also more heartfelt because Stiles had started to catch on.

It started with the fact that Stiles needed to talk to someone about it. It being the situation, Derek, Stiles' realisation, anything really - 'it' covered a multitude of sins. Stiles just needed to talk at a fundamental level because that was how Stiles dealt. The problem was that he wasn't quite comfortable with the conversation happening with Scott, even though he knew Scott would be fine about it really. Stiles remembered a few too many 'I kind of want to make out with you right now' and 'you are the hottest girl' comments for him to be 100% sure Scott mightn't question things between them. Stiles was already freaking out enough for both of them already.

So Stiles had gone with Malia instead, for what he felt were obvious reasons (i.e. their thing). The conversation happened one night when she'd come climbing through his window in the early evening and ended up spooning him with an intent to stay over hours later. They were basking in their afterglows, so it was an opportune time for Stiles to wreck it all.

"You got on pretty well with Caitlin, right?" Stiles had decided this was the most appropriate opening because he could lead up to laying the blame on Caitlin.

"From the party?" Malia asked, stretching beside him. "She gave me her number so yeah."

"Really?" Stiles asked, distracted. "She never gave me her number."

"She likes girls," Malia said, dryly.

"And boys," said Stiles. "She said she like boys, too, and asked me if I did."

"You didn't talk to her that long at the party," Malia looked amused and a bit smug. "I know because she was dancing with me."

"No, I know," Stiles marvelled at his own ability to get off track. "When I first met her at the last party. Before you and I met."

"Maybe she just likes girls more," Malia suggested, looking even more smug. In fact, she was now smug enough to make him poke her and tickle her side until she squealed and swatted at him a bit too hard.

"Ow."

"Sorry." Malia did not look sorry. "What about Caitlin anyway?"

"You gonna call her?" Stiles asked, settling back down.

"That wasn't what you were going to say," Malia told him, giving him a rather Hale worthy look. "But I might, yeah."

"And what if you ended up really liking her?" Stiles asked, because he was not above trying to transfer this whole thing onto someone else. No, sir.

"What d'you mean?" Malia asked, rising up on her elbow to look down at him. "Like dating?"

"Yeah," Stiles agreed. "Like, what about us?" He gestured between them.

"I'm not going to drop you just because I'm dating someone." Malia rolled her eyes.

"I more meant the sex," Stiles clarified, flushing a bit. "We do that a lot. It's really great. But not when dating other people."

Malia got that Hale look again. "Is this about Caitlin or about Derek?"

Stiles did the Bambi eyes. There was no saving him. He even squeaked. "Derek?!"

"Uh huh," Malia agreed. "My cousin that you spent most of the party with and who painted you up all pretty and asked you to paint him."

Stiles pursed his lips. Yeah, that sounded about as unsubtly accurate as he should have expected their behaviour to appear. "Might have something to do with him. I feel it's Caitlin's fault for asking if I like boys."

"Do you?" Malia asked. "Like boys, I mean. I know you like girls."

"I might," Stiles admitted, scrunching his nose. He looked at her. "Would that be okay? The not having sex?"

"Guess, but I'll miss it," Malia reflected. "I trained you really good."

Stiles' face flamed. "Well."

Malia raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Stiles choked a bit. "You trained me well."

Malia swatted him.

"Ow. Again." Stiles rubbed his arm. "You know you got me first, but it sounds like you might have other options you want to explore?"

"Does it make you feel better if I do?" Malia asked, amused again. "Because I met Caitlin once so you're really reaching if you mean her. But I think yes, if you were still my Stiles, not having sex could be okay."

Stiles hugged her impulsively. "I'll always be your Stiles, I promised."

Malia hugged him back, then asked in his ear, "We don't have to stop yet, right?"

Stiles thought about it as she wriggled against him. "Maybe not quite yet."

But there it was, even if Derek didn't know it or want it. If he was interested, he'd get Stiles exclusively. Stiles was just going to have to actually consciously start wooing Derek Hale...

He tried not to think about how badly wrong it could all go.

* * *

The eleventh gift was really the first one that Stiles was consciously aware of giving with an attempt to woo Derek. That made the whole situation pretty terrifying.

Derek had essentially invited himself over as usual and was sat in the armchair reading, though he did keep glancing at Stiles every so often. Stiles presumed he must smell of nerves or something.

It took about half an hour before Stiles managed to blurt out, "Food?"

By which he obviously meant: Please may I cook you an amazing dinner that will make you love me forever, or at least until I figure out why your biceps fascinate me so much.

Derek looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow. This was probably entirely justified since Stiles was still looking at the television screen instead of Derek. "Food?"

Stiles felt his face heat as he looked back at Derek. "Like, can I make you something?"

"You want to cook for me?" Derek's face was breaking out in a smile and Stiles didn't know what to do with that. It was a bit breathtaking.

"I was gonna make something for me anyway." Stiles lied, trying not to sound defensive but he was embarrassed. He'd been expecting sarcasm, not a smile. Jeez, didn't Derek realise their relationship was built on sarcasm? And that smile was Doing Things to him Inside.

And now Derek looked amused with him. "Yes, Stiles, I'd like it if you made me something, since you're cooking for yourself anyway."

Stiles shot him a glare, pretty sure he was being mocked. "What would you like?"

"What were you planning to make?" Derek asked, pausing deliberately before saying, "You know, since you were 'planning to cook for yourself anyway'."

Stiles knew when he was rumbled. Damn werewolves and their pesky hearing of heartbeats and lies. "I hate you."

"You're very bad at this," Derek observed.

"I really hate you," Stiles insisted, and Derek was just smiling wider.

"I don't think you do," Derek replied, and - oh god - he was putting the book down. "I think you like me."

Stiles may have fish mouthed a bit before he recovered enough for any sort of repartee. "You only just worked that out? Haven't I saved your life often enough before now?" Stiles avoided Derek's knowing gaze. "Just tell me what you want to eat."

Derek didn't immediately reply, causing Stiles to glance at him. When he did, he saw Derek was biting his lip not to laugh.

"Oh my god, you ass-hole!" Stiles folded his arms defensively. "It's not that fucking funny, it's just dinner. Tell me what you want!"

Derek coughed, nodding tightly. His voice was still strained. "Pasta would be great."

Stiles huffed out of his seat, stomping into the kitchen. This had been such a stupid idea. Sure, make him dinner. It had sounded so good. Now this had happened and Stiles wanted to die of mortification.

"Do you need a hand?" Derek called after him, tone cautious.

"No," Stiles replied, slamming open his cupboards and crashing around getting pans.

He'd just put the water onto boil when the bastard of a stealthy werewolf nabbed him from behind. It was totally cheating, but there was Derek with his arms around Stiles, all warm up Stiles' back. It did surprise him at first, but then it was kind of nice and Derek was saying in his ear, "I'm sorry for laughing."

Stiles swallowed roughly, not sure if he should point out the hugging or what. "So you should be."

"We'll go as slow as you need, okay?" Derek asked, squeezing him gently.

Stiles nodded jerkily, flushed. "Dinner won't take long if you want to read."

"Okay. I'll wait in the living room and we can pretend this didn't happen." Derek kissed the side of his head and let him go, presumably prowling away as silently as he arrived since Stiles only registered the absence of warmth at his back after Derek let go.

And so maybe Stiles was grinning like a moron and Derek was his favourite person ever again. He scrubbed his face like he could scrub the smile away and got the rest of dinner together a bit more peacefully.

And with more skipping and hand flails.

Apparently he could do this after all and apparently Derek was more ready than he was. Stiles could cope with that. And he could start with dinner.

* * *

The twelfth gift was definitely a gift. It resulted in a confused phone-call.

"Stiles?"

"Yes, Derek?" Stiles was feeling quite pleased with himself this time. He wasn't even present so this couldn't go too badly wrong just yet.

"Why are two men trying to deliver a flat screen television that I didn't order?"

"Because I ordered it?" Stiles suggested. Hey, he'd bought one for Lydia and never given it to her so Derek was already ahead. "I paid for it, too."

"You paid for--" Derek paused. "Stiles. You bought me a TV?"

"Yes?" Stiles was beginning to sense Derek had some sort of problem with the situation.

"You, Stiles, whose father couldn't afford your medical bills bought me, Derek, who owns an entire building, a flat screen TV." Derek was speaking slowly.

To be fair, when he put it like that... "Hang on, you own an entire building?!"

"I assumed Scott would have told you."

"You own--And Scott--" Stiles broke off. "Dude, why the hell don't you have a TV?"

"Stiles, how often have you seen me watch TV?"

Stiles pursed his lips. "Figured maybe you couldn't afford one."

"I drive a Camaro."

"You used to live in an abandoned train depot!"

"I was on the run. Now I've got an apartment."

"And then your money got stolen, and it's not like you ever bought any furniture!"

Derek sighed and was silent for a long moment. "Why did you think a TV was a good idea?"

"I-thought-maybe-we-could-watch-it-together-when-I-come-over?"

"And when were you planning to come over?"

"When you invited me?" Stiles suggested, swallowing. "You can tell them to take it back if you prefer."

Derek was quiet again, then sighed, again. "I'll pay you back when you come over at 7pm."

Then Derek hung up before Stiles could protest because Derek clearly had no idea how presents actually worked.

It was a point over which Stiles continued to stew for the rest of the day, bouncing restlessly around his house looking for activities to absorb himself.

At some point he reflected that Derek presumed him thoughtless enough to have wasted money on the TV when his dad was still in trouble and that steered him from restless to incensed. He was hopping mad by the time he'd gotten ready and driven to Derek's and knocked on the door.

Derek barely had time to open the door and Stiles was off. "How dare you suggest I'd just waste money when my dad was short-"

"Stiles."

"-Half of it got waved when Lydia and I nearly got killed-"

"Stiles."

"-You don't pay a person back for a present, that's just rude-"

"Stiles."

"-I thought you knew me better, Derek, seriously, that was such an ass-"

And then Derek just kissed him, cupping Stiles' face in his hands, which was not taking things slow, nor what Stiles had expected. It was gentle and warm and far too brief. He blinked a bit when Derek released him.

"Thank you for the TV, Stiles," Derek told him. "I didn't mean to imply you'd been thoughtless about your father. And I said I'd pay you back. I didn't say I'd give you money."

"Oh, well, okay then." Stiles licked his lips. Derek had kissed him. He sort of wanted another one. "What did you mean?"

"Well I thought I'd start with making you dinner," Derek told him, mildly.

"Oh," Stiles repeated, only now taking in the nice smells of cooking. He flushed. "Does that mean we can watch TV together later?"

"After dinner," Derek agreed, taking Stiles' hand in his and pulling him into the loft.

So maybe the TV hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

* * *

Stiles was supposed to be assisting Scott with a gift for Kira when the thirteenth gift was acquired. Unfortunately he wasn't being much help. Shopping for girls: not a strength.

"Oh! How about this?" Scott asked, scooting along the counter and pointing to a selection of designer jewellery.

Stiles followed after, peering curiously. It was actually a pretty decent idea - a selection of earrings, necklaces, bracelets and rings for both men and women with foxes engraved or molded into the work.

"She likes bracelets, right?" Stiles asked, glancing at one that seemed to have little foxes in different poses attached as charms. He pointed to it. "How about that one?"

Scott looked closer, making a thoughtful sound and then summoned the sales assistant to start asking questions.

Stiles' attention wandered on. It was weird, but in a way he thought of himself a bit like a fox after the Nogitsune. No one was quite sure what had happened when he ended up in the body that came out of the floor whilst the Nogitsune was killed in his original form. Maybe that still made him a fox? Maybe it was just wishful thinking because he wanted to fit in with his friends. Stiles wasn't sure, but he identified with the fox and that might've been why one of the other pieces caught his eye.

The piece in question was simple wood on a leather thong. The wood was essentially a rectangle taller than it was wide, but sanded and rounded at the corners. On the face, a fox had been carved looking straight on with its tail curving from behind it. The price tag wasn't too dangerous either.

Stiles was torn. It was meaningful, buying a dude jewellery, but he'd also kind of love it if Derek was to wear something to represent him, and Stiles was pretty sure Derek would like it, too. It was in keeping with general wolf ways, and technically, if he thought about it, Derek had started the whole thing the other night anyway, so Stiles was just following suit.

They'd been watching TV together: it had become their thing, though Derek did still sometimes read a book. Instead of sitting in the arm chair, Derek always sat on the couch beside Stiles now and Stiles tended to sit right up against Derek - it had taken some awkward shuffling to get there, but it was good. Then, the other night, Stiles had fallen asleep on Derek's shoulder and woken up to Derek rubbing his jaw against Stiles' head.

Stiles hadn't called him on it, because Derek had been pretty awesome about not teasing Stiles too much, but Malia's reaction later that night had kind of sealed it. She'd come through his window and headed straight for him only to pull up short, nose wrinkling. "You really stink."

"...thanks," Stiles had told her.

"I mean, like, you smell like Derek but worse than usual." Malia had still been making a face, keeping the last few steps between them. "Like... did you let him scent mark you?"

"...maybe?" Stiles shifted awkwardly, feeling perhaps he should have dropped her a text or something. "I mean, I wasn't 100% sure that was what he was doing."

"He basically wrote 'Property of Derek' on you," Malia informed him, looking amused. Then she pouted. "Guess that's sex off the table - movie?"

"Movie sounds good," Stiles had agreed, the tension easing once more.

Which brought Stiles to now, signalling a different store clerk whilst Scott was busy so he could acquire his own 'Property of Stiles' tag to return the favour.

The fact it'd probably end up on the dresser instead of actually given to Derek was beside the point.

* * *

The fourteenth gift was a little less than voluntary in some ways. But then that seemed to be the theme of the day.

It was about two days after Stiles had purchased the necklace. As predicted, he'd failed to give it Derek, leaving it upstairs. This was the first time Derek had been over since and he'd headed straight up to change. All in all, everything was just as normal until Derek came back downstairs.

Derek was dressed in the simple pants and top combo he usually wore, but in the gap created by the v neck of his henley, there lay a familiar necklace.

"Hey!!" Stiles flailed upright in his seat. "You-I-you can't just--"

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

"That!" Stiles jabbed a finger at the necklace.

"Oh, this?" Derek asked, touching the wooden carving. "Looks good on me, huh?"

Stiles mouthed. "But."

"It was for me, right?" Derek looked all amused at him as he sat beside him.

"Maybe," Stiles allowed, frowning at the necklace in question. It did look very good.

"Like the rest of those things upstairs?" Derek suggested.

Stiles sank in his seat, embarrassment pretty big even if he'd obviously made no effort to hide the presents in question. "You're not meant to just help yourself."

"You didn't seem very likely to give them to me anytime soon," Derek pointed out, nudging his leg against Stiles'.

Stiles glanced at him, face warm. "You really don't get how presents work, do you?"

"Maybe I just really wanted to wear something of yours?" Derek's gaze was serious now, and he grazed his knuckles against Stiles' cheek. "The same way you're wearing mine."

"You do look good in it," Stiles told him, a smile twisting his lips. "Even if you're worse than me at this gift thing."

"I'm compensating for your short comings," Derek replied, thumb tracing Stiles' lower lip. It was making concentration rather difficult.

"You suck at flattery, too." Stiles wished his heart wasn't racing so much.

"It's all the effort I'm expending on patience," Derek told him. "That's not something that comes naturally."

"Maybe you don't need to be so patient," Stiles hedged, practically holding his breath.

"No?" Derek asked, shifting closer.

Stiles shook his head, just a tiny motion as Derek was practically holding him in place.

Derek smiled and closed the space between them, kissing Stiles gently.

Stiles couldn't help his own smile blooming as their mouths met, lifting his hand to Derek's cheek as he returned it. It wasn't like any kiss he'd shared before, because Derek took the lead and it meant so very much more.

It was easy to get caught up, to lift his other hand to tangle in Derek's hair as the kiss deepened. Soon they were licking into each other's mouths, Stiles pulling and Derek pushing and the couch becoming a great place to get horizontal.

And then someone - neither of them - pointedly cleared his throat.

Stiles and Derek scrambled apart, ending up at opposite ends of the couch.

"So," said the sheriff, and his hand was moving to his gun. "Something you need to tell me?"

And that was how Stiles and Derek went public with Stiles' dad.

* * *

Stiles wasn't sure if it was easier to feel forgiveness or to convey it; maybe it wasn't true forgiveness until you conveyed it? But The fifteenth gift was all about that.

"You couldn't have warned me?" Stiles hissed, gesturing wildly at his bedroom door.

They had both, somehow, survived the encounter with the sheriff. Better yet, Derek hadn't had to use his werewolf healing abilities to do so.

"You think I wanted to get caught by your dad?" Derek asked, disbelieving.

It had been excruciating. There had been an interrogation. There had been personal questions. Too personal. Stiles was pretty sure he'd have the memory of Derek explaining to the sheriff how he didn't need to supply STD test certificates (because of werewolf healing) etched in his mind for the rest of his life in horrifying HD.

"I don't know!" Stiles replied, flopping on his bed. "You're the one with the super hearing."

"I was distracted," Derek muttered, and it took a beat for Stiles to realise that Derek was embarrassed.

"Hold on, you mean I distracted you?" Stiles asked, and decide to broach a certain something Malia had mentioned recently just to be a brat. "Me the hyperactive spaz?"

Derek winced. "Don't call yourself that."

"But you can call me that?" Stiles asked archly.

Derek turned pink. Or pinker. And he was visibly struggling. "I shouldn't have--"

"Oh hush up, big guy," Stiles rescued him, no longer seeing the fun of it. "I'm kidding. I've called you worse."

"I've hurt you." Derek was standing beside the window, because he'd snuck back in after ostensibly leaving through the front door. He had a frown on his face now, remembering.

"Reckon I hurt you pretty bad when I was possessed," Stiles observed, propping himself up a bit.

"But that wasn't you," Derek argued. "When I--"

"When what? When you knocked me against the steering wheel for making you strip in front of Danny?" Stiles asked. "Because that hadn't been at all bratty on my part or anything."

"Stiles." Derek looked a bit pained, the expression born of trying to conceal amusement and be serious.

"No, you listen," Stiles replied, finding his feet. "You were saving my life all the freaking time back then. You have been ever since. And sure, sometimes you knocked me around a bit. Maybe because I was a brat. Maybe you forgot I wasn't a were and it hurt more. But I'm pretty certain you never wanted to hurt me."

"I didn't," Derek agreed as Stiles came close, taking his hands. "Well, most of the time I didn't."

"Most people really want to kill me some of the time," Stiles reassured him, lifting Derek's hands and kissing his knuckles. He felt bold, but also as though he was blushing furiously. "I trust you, Derek. I know you were protecting the pack, that you never meant to hurt me. And I forgive you when you did, but I still don't think it's your fault."

Derek rolled his eyes, but he was smiling again.

"How about I see if I can distract you again?" Stiles suggested, feeling mischievous.

"Or how about Derek goes home before I actually have to shoot him?" Stilinski suggests from outside the door.

"Or that," said Stiles, shoving Derek a bit toward the window. "I'll come to yours tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Derek agreed, stealing a fast kiss.

Stiles was just pulling the window down when the sheriff pulled the door open, and so what if Stiles' mouth was a bit kiss bruised?

* * *

The sixteenth gift was back to being an actual present, even if Derek wasn't going to be given it right away.

Stiles should probably not have been left unsupervised for even a minute when shopping for Derek's Christmas present. Derek did, after all, already possess one indestructible leather coat. He probably didn't need another one, except that this one was a coat rather than a jacket and would look all superhero levels of cool when he leapt off buildings and shit.

"Stiles, dude, he would kill you," Scott told him when he found him after taking one look at the coat in question. He'd taken the news of Stiles and Derek being, well, Stiles and Derek, rather well only that morning. It ran along the lines of: "Stiles, I know, it's okay. You've kind of been dating for months." Which, if Stiles thought about it, was probably disturbingly true.

"He'd look really cool while he was killing me," Stiles pointed out, because he couldn't get the jumping and flaring out of his mind. It would probably swish, too. Stiles did not think he'd be above making Derek stand there and swish it for him.

"He can buy it for himself," Scott pointed out. "You could get him some fingerless gloves. If you're lucky they'll only cost two digits."

Stiles snorted.

Scott glanced at him, then rolled his eyes. "Numbers, Stiles. Though the analogy kinda works since this coat is probably worth both of your kidneys."

Stiles huffed. "It's clearly only worth one. We should've kept Peter's money, then I could have bought it."

Scott gave up at that point, grabbing him by his shoulders and steering him bodily toward the accessories. "Fingerless gloves. They're cheaper - so much cheaper - and they're thoughtful since he can't destroy them with his claws."

Stiles sighed, waving farewell to the coat over Scott's shoulder as he was steered.

"You clearly need a brilliantly paying job if you're always going to get like this," Scott muttered.

"Hm?" Stiles glanced back at him and then finally found his feet to start cooperating. "What?"

"The gratuitous spending," Scott told him, parking him in front of the gloves. "I love you, man, but you go a bit crazy when you're in love."

Stiles, who had been looking over the gloves since it was not an altogether bad idea, froze. "I'm in what now?"

"...had we not gotten that far?" Scott had his 'oops' face on.

Stiles blinked at him.

"I thought you knew."

"Scotty, you just had to tell me I've been dating him for months."

Scott sighed, laying his hands on Stiles' shoulders as he looked him face on. "When was the last time you started stockpiling extravagant gifts?"

Stiles recalls that awkward incident in his room too well. "Lydia?"

"And when did you decide you were going to marry her?"

"Third grade. But, that's a bit different!"

"You're an adult now," Scott agreed.

"If I was an adult, I don't think my dad would be as funny about it," Stiles replied, a bit dazed.

"Okay, well you're old enough for it to mean more than third grade?" Scott suggested. "And don't you think your dad would've actually shot Derek by now if he didn't realise it was pretty serious?"

Stiles blinked a few more times. Swallowed. Swallowed again. "Um. I'm going to go and buy the gloves now."

"You want pizza and gaming after?" Scott offered.

Stiles nodded quickly, turning around to scan the gloves and remembering strong hands touching his face. Love seemed a pretty strong word, but hell yes was Scott right about him being in pretty deep.

* * *

As it turned out, Stiles' contacts in law enforcement came in handy for the seventeenth gift. Even if he really wished he were giving Derek another way to spend his evening.

The next day, Stiles got the feeling he'd been tattled on from the moment he got out of his jeep outside Derek's loft. The first he knew that he had company was Derek shouting his name, making him turn, and then Derek was jumping down from lord knew where in that coat. And it was flaring. And he looked amazing.

"Hey," Stiles greeted him a bit dumbly, watching as the coat did indeed swish as Derek walked in it. "Fuck do you look good in that thing."

"A little bird said you might be interested in me wearing it," Derek agreed, and he was smug but damn did the man look good.

"Might be interested in getting you back out of it again at this rate," Stiles agreed absently, licking his lips as Derek backed him right up against his vehicle.

Derek rested his hands on the jeep, trapping Stiles between his arms. "I think that could be arranged."

Stiles grinned hugely, smile only getting wider as Derek leaned in close.

And then someone flicked on their main beams, making even Stiles wince.

"Stop! Police!"

"Oh my god," Stiles whined, and then smacked Derek in the chest. "Jesus, your were hearing sucks."

Derek gave him a pointed look, or tried to because he was still blinking a bit from the glare. "Distracted."

Stiles flushed. And was smug.

"Put your hands in the air and step away from the kid!" At least Parrish sounded like he was trying not to laugh as he did it.

"Jordan, cut the crap!" Stiles shouted. "I know my dad put you up to this!"

"And I'm under orders to bring the perp' in or it's my job!" Jordan called back.

"...why did you have to be the sheriff's kid?" Derek asked, resting his forehead against Stiles'.

"'Cause I'll be worth the effort?" Stiles asked, trying not to laugh because it was pretty ridiculous.

Derek gave him a quick kiss and raised his hands, turning back to Jordan. "What else have you been ordered?"

Jordan held up the handcuffs.

"Of course," Derek sighed.

"I'm coming with you," Stiles told him, folding his arms across his chest and daring Jordan to disagree. Jordan's smile at the joke faded a bit.

Derek snickered.

"What's funny to you?" Jordan asked as he came forward, cuffing Derek.

"I don't envy you, trying to balance two Stilinskis," Derek told him.

"I'm not trying to balance anyone," Jordan replied, grabbing Derek's arm to lead him to the car.

"You do remember Stiles has Lydia on speed dial, right?" Derek asked, catching Stiles' gaze and smiling at him as he was loaded into the back of the patrol car.

Stiles smirked as Jordan turned around, raising his eyebrows. "Me and Lydia, same age. You and Derek, same age, ish. I think you'd rather be on our side."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jordan told him, moving back to the driver's seat. His ears were a bit red though. "Get in if you're coming, Stiles."

And Stiles scrambled to get in. He sure as hell wasn't leaving his dad around Derek unsupervised if he could help it. He shot him off a text as they went: You aren't funny.

His phone bleeped a moment later: I'm hilarious. Where do you think you got it from?

Stiles huffed and kicked the foot-well: You better not keep him in long.

The response was only a few minutes later: Just until your curfew.

Stiles rolled his eyes and held his phone up for Derek to see the exchange. "Sorry. I'll try and argue him down when we get there."

"It's fine, Stiles," Derek reassured him. "Like you said, you're worth the effort."

It was Stiles that turned pink this time; he did his best to hide it from Jordan. He had a dad to argue with and he was gonna do his best to win Derek's freedom as soon as possible.

* * *

The eighteenth gift was something of a confession.

Between the run up to Christmas, everyone being happy and the general quietude, it should probably not have come as any great surprise that trouble was bound to turn up in Beacon Hills. And more fool it for coming in the form of an incubus with its sights set on Stiles. That didn't sit very well with Stiles' ex-alpha werewolf boyfriend at all.

So there was considerable carnage when the rescue squad turned up at the Nemeton, where the incubus seemed intent on performing some archaic sex ritual sacrifice. Unfortunately the carnage was not restricted to the incubus.

The whole saga did not leave Stiles a happy bunny.

First had come Derek, barrelling into the clearing at top speed and hurling himself at the incubus, only to get claws sunk deep into him everywhere. He howled this horrible pained sound and got thrown across the clearing to smack sickeningly against a tree and hit the deck.

Next came Scott and the rest of the pack to engage the incubus, shred the incubus, check the incubus was dead, check Derek wasn't dead - he thankfully moved and whined a bit - and then free one very angry Stiles (who was only slightly less terrified than just before the whine).

"Derek, dude, what the hell?!" Stiles shouted the moment the gag was out, struggling unhelpfully as Liam tried to untie him.

Derek whined at him again from where he was slumped by the tree.

"That was not okay! What if you got killed?" Stiles was over beside him the moment Liam had freed him, making an effort not to shove Scott out the way when he was doing his pain relief mojo. Stiles settled for petting at Derek's face and neck instead. "Please don't be dying. Why aren't you healing? Oh my god."

"Stiles, calm down. He'll be fine," Scott reassured him. "The wounds are already closing, look."

Stiles did look, fingers curling in Derek's fur. He drew a breath, relaxing, and then he was off again: "But what if you'd been a minute later--" Stiles was starting to hyperventilate, eyes stinging. "What if--just because I--Derek!"

"Guys, can we get some space?" Scott asked, wrapping an arm around Stiles' shoulders as he spoke. "Stiles, breathe."

Stiles was fighting to breathe, he really was, and fighting not to cry. It was just the sound of the pained howl, and the idea of someone dying because of him again. And this was Derek. His Derek.

And then Derek was changing into one very naked boyfriend, and Stiles wasn't even in a fit state to appreciate it. "Stiles, I'm fine."

"But you weren't, you were--"

Derek took over from Scott, cupping his face and looking him straight in the eye. "I'm fine. You've seen me come through worse."

"You shouldn't have gone running off like that," Stiles told him, folding a big hug around him and burying his face in Derek's shoulder.

"You really have seen me come through worse," Derek insisted, stroking his hair.

"Different now," Stiles mumbled, squeezing him.

"Oh." A pause in which Stiles tensed a bit because it was kind of a big admission. "Oohh."

And then Stiles knew exactly what was happening on Derek's face. "Stop smiling."

"Won't," Derek replied, kissing his head. "Just remember who I came chasing after."

And maybe then Stiles was struggling not to smile like a goof too. "Trying to be mad here."

"Tough."

"Oh my god, you two are sickening," Scott complained.

"Karma's a bitch, Scotty boy," Stiles replied. And yeah, he was definitely smiling now.

* * *

Stiles' nineteenth gift made Derek's wolf exceedingly happy.

Once Stiles had calmed down, his hug lessening from the life or death clutch he'd inflicted on Derek when he'd first shifted, Derek had offered to take Stiles home.

Stiles had agreed to the offer readily, but still refused to let go of Derek entirely when they went back through the woods. It meant Stiles was trailing behind one very naked Derek, led by his hand, and he found it difficult to focus on the serious conversation that Derek was trying to have with him.

"Stiles, before we arrived--"

"Hm?" Stiles was a little hypnotised. He was also exerting masterful effort in not cracking (crack! Ha!) any full moon jokes.

"--the incubus," Derek was saying. "Did anything happen? Before we arrived?"

"Hm?" It was the way the muscles rippled as Derek walked. It really didn't help at all.

"Stiles?"

"Mm?" Stiles hummed absently, licking over his lower lip. He kinda wanted to just bite one cheek, maybe. And the very idea made his face heat because they'd barely been doing the kissing thing yet. It was just so very, very distracting.

And then Derek stopped and turned around and that was no longer his ass that Stiles was looking at. Nope. So not an ass.

"Try a bit higher," Derek advised. So Stiles did. Mm, abs. Pecs. Neck. Stubble. Eyes - very amused eyes. "Hello."

"Hi," Stiles said, making a concerted effort not to let his attention drift as he held Derek's hand in both of his.

"Did you hear anything I was saying?" Derek asked him, concern creasing the skin between his brows.

Stiles wracked his brain but it was fairly full of Derek's ass. It was making up for his failure to exhibit proper appreciation of Derek's gorgeous nudity before. Though that memory had Stiles stepping closer to Derek.

"What is it?" Derek asked him, free hand coming to rest over Stiles' chest. "You're panicking again. What happened?"

Stiles shook his head slightly. "No, nothing. Nothing happened. It's still you--what nearly happened--"

"I'm okay," Derek reminded him.

"I know," Stiles replied, but he was still squeezing Derek's hand tight. He'd never had such an issue just saying words before now, but this was all so new and special and shaky. "I want--It's just--Can I--Fuck."

"Take your time," Derek told him.

"I-want-to-be-with-you-tonight," Stiles blurted out, face on fire. He averted his gaze down and got an eyeful of penis. "Just sleeping!"

Derek chuckled, squeezing Stiles' hand as he relaxed a bit. "We can do that, come on."

The tension Stiles was feeling eased a tiny bit and he followed Derek quickly, trying not to get distracted afresh. He let himself be loaded into the Camaro, not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when Derek found clothes from somewhere.

"Are you listening now?" Derek asked.

"Of course," Stiles replied, twisting in his seat to watch Derek. He was surprised and yet pleased when Derek took his hand again.

"Did the incubus do anything to you?" Derek exuded concern, any of the blistering rage he was feeling - and Stiles knew Derek well enough to know he'd be feeling it - was tightly tamped down under his control.

"No," Stiles told him firmly, finally realising what Derek had been dancing around. "It didn't try to do anything to me. Promise."

A little more tension left Derek and he nodded curtly. So yeah, he was still really mad at the incubus - it was probably lucky it was dead.

"Still going to stay, right?"

"If you can get me past your dad," Derek joked. Then spared Stiles a glance. "Leave the window open if that doesn't work."

Stiles nodded, expression determined as they pulled up.

Yet for all his recent teasing, the sheriff didn't put up any protest when Stiles told him Derek would be staying the night - just to sleep. Maybe it had been the trembly, white knuckled grip Stiles was maintaining on Derek's hand that sold him. Whatever it was, twenty minutes later Stiles was greeted with a sight he could really get used to.

Stiles had taken second turn in the bathroom in deference to Derek's injuries (and all the blood everywhere), and when he'd come out Derek was already curled up in his bed with the cover drawn back. The pendant that Stiles had bought him rested at the base of his throat, and he was topless, sweats hung low on his hips.

Stiles flushed a bit, flipping off the light and scurrying across the room to bounce into the bed. He tugged the covers over them both as Derek's arm slid around his waist and pulled him snug to Derek's front. Stiles wrapped his arm over Derek's in turn, hugging it to him.

"Thank you," Stiles whispered, tipping his head as Derek nuzzled his jaw.

"You don't need to thank me," Derek replied quietly. "There was no way I was leaving you alone tonight."

"You mean you'd have camped out on my roof like a creepy stalker?" Stiles teased, but he felt too content for there to be any real bite behind the jibe.

"If I had to," Derek told him, not joking.

"Wolf thing?" Stiles asked sleepily.

"Pack thing," Derek agreed. "You're my--you're mine. Knowing you're right here, safe, is exactly what I needed tonight."

Stiles hugged his arm tighter, heart almost hurting with how happy the words made him - he was Derek's and Derek needed this. "Me too."

It was only a little terrifying to realise he wanted this always.

* * *

Gift twenty was something of a helping hand.

When Stiles woke the next morning, he couldn't keep the huge smile from blooming over his face. Derek was still wrapped around him, breath warm against the back of his neck and hold tight. His dad had accepted Derek staying. School had broken up. Christmas was about to arrive. Oh, and he'd survived another attempt to kill him. Life was good.

He stretched languidly, wondering how soon Derek would wake, and that was when he felt it: that gorgeous boyfriend of his was sporting some impressive morning wood and it was nestled against his backside. Stiles was torn between embarrassed and aroused, and motivated to be very bold for once - it was easier when Derek was still seemingly asleep. So Stiles squirmed back against Derek.

That was enough to wake him, and Derek's grip on his waist tightened. "Stiles."

"Mm?" Stiles asked, twisting around in Derek's hold until they were face to face, his hand on Derek's bare side above his waistband. "Hi."

"Hi." Derek's palm was resting against Stiles' back where his shirt had ridden up with his movement. It felt like a brand, triggering far more of a response than he could've imagined. "Much as I'm very interested in what you're starting, are you sure?"

"Hell yes," Stiles replied, then hesitated. "But, err, you want me to brush my teeth first?"

Derek chuckled, pulling him in. "I'll cope." And then they were kissing, and it was so good. They were pressing closer together, so much heat and want between them.

And for long minutes that was all they did, kissing and stroking bare skin. And then they were dragging Stiles' shirt over his head, Derek's mouth dropping to Stile's neck and shoulder.

Stiles arched into him, fingers in Derek's hair. "So very yes."

Derek nipped his skin. "Got lube?"

"Bedside table," Stiles replied, excitement and arousal speeding his heart rate.

Stiles sank back against the mattress as Derek leaned over him to retrieve the lube, admiring the stretch of Derek's muscles. He was lucky to have this man.

"Did you have something in mind?" Derek asked him as he pulled back, brushing another kiss across Stiles' mouth.

Stiles hesitated, then his hand closed over Derek's, taking the lube from him. He wished he had that bit more confidence in this arena with Derek, and he was coming to realise he just needed to take it. Derek wanted him to. "I did. Lie back."

Derek obeyed, smile encouraging, and even lifted his hips obligingly when Stiles reached to pull his sweat pants down. And god if he wasn't too fucking beautiful to be true, so confident and shameless in his own skin.

It made Stiles a bit nervous, to have Derek watching him so intently, but he wanted to give him this. He squirted some of the lube onto his hand, leaning to kiss Derek's throat beside the pendant as he gave the lube time to warm up. "I love that you wear it."

"Thank you for giving it me," Derek replied, a twinkle in his eyes.

Stiles snorted, but then he was leaning along Derek's side and wrapping his hand around Derek's cock to jerk him off slowly. It felt strange, having his hand on a cock that wasn't his own, but he figured he knew how to do this, and Derek's lashes were flickering in a way that showed he was far from unaffected.

"This okay?" Stiles asked against his jaw, rubbing his cheek against Derek's stubble and smiling to think how their scents must be mixing.

"Very," Derek replied huskily, pulling him into another open mouthed kiss.

Stiles couldn't help a soft moan of his own. He felt powerful, knowing he was the one doing this to Derek, his hand sliding up and down Derek's length slickly. He squeezed, and teased at the head, drinking in Derek's reactions as he tried different things. Derek had been so good and patient, even now not pushing as his hands rested on Stiles' back.

Breaking the kiss, Stiles pulled back just enough to fully appreciate him. He took in Derek's darkened eyes and flushed cheeks. He noted the way Derek's lips parted in a silent gasp when he twisted his wrist and tugged in a certain way. Stiles noted how Derek bit his lip instead when Stiles touched his balls, just gentle teasing touches before he was back to stroking Derek off. Derek was just taking it all, not pushing, looking at him like--

"I love you," Stiles blurted out, sparing barely a moment to take in Derek's startled gaze before he was engaging him in a deep kiss, pouring all of that emotion into it as he jerked him faster, wanting him to come.

"Stiles." Derek's cry was muffled into his mouth, fingers pinching Stiles' skin as he spilt over Stiles' fingers. And he was still kissing Stiles just as desperately, if not more so, with a ferocity of emotion that stole the air from Stiles' lungs.

It left Stiles dazed as Derek rolled him onto his back, reaching to return the favour. Stiles was on cloud nine even before any orgasms: He'd laid himself bare in what he'd offered and what he'd said, and Derek loved him, too.

* * *

Stiles being Stiles, the only surprising thing about the twenty-first gift was that it took him so long.

It was time to do a bit of extra research about werewolves and their partners so he could best understand what Derek might need that he wouldn't anticipate, and there was really only one person for that that.

"Stiles." Of course, Alan Deaton wouldn't seem remotely surprised to see him. "Why don't you come on through. I'm just tidying up."

Stiles nodded, hands in his pockets to disguise his discomfort. Because Deaton never left him feeling terribly at ease. "You expected me?"

"Scott mentioned you and Derek were forming an attachment," Deaton replied, heading back into the clinic with the apparent assumption Stiles would follow.

"You mean he was bitching about it," Stiles interpreted, because Scott was being a terrible hypocrite after how he'd behaved with Alison. And with Kira, come to think of it.

Deaton merely smiled. "What is it you want to know?"

Stiles shrugged one shoulder. "Wouldn't exactly be here if I knew the answer already, would I?"

Deaton inclined his head in acknowledgement, but this wasn't enough to motivate him to speak.

Stiles huffed. "So. Derek's a born wolf, right? He's always known that - he grew up in a family of wolves with an Alpha."

"Correct," Deaton agreed, tidying bottles and papers away as he'd indicated he would.

"Well, he's the only person we know like that," said Stiles. "Malia was born a were, but she wasn't raised as a were and she's a coyote anyway. Scott doesn't really know much since he was bitten. So, you're my best bet for any questions."

"Aside from Derek himself, yes." Deaton gave him a pointed look.

Stiles made a face. He had thought about asking Derek, obviously. "That kind of puts him in an awkward position if he's trying not to put me in an equally awkward position."

"We'll pretend that made sense," Deaton told him. "Ask your question, Stiles."

Stiles flushed and drew a deep breath. "What can you tell me about mates?"

Deaton's smile was downright creepy and he set down the items he'd been holding. "What would you like to know?"

Stiles swallowed. Okay, so it was a real thing. Granted, most of the stuff online was probably still rubbish, but it was a real thing. "Everything?"

"Take a seat," Deaton advised, gesturing to a stool.

Stiles did and was glad of the fact. He hadn't realised he was almost shaking. "So it's real?"

"It is real, but perhaps not in the way you think," Deaton replied, being as vague as usual. "The actual fact is that wolves are monogamous in all relationships. This is a trait shared by werewolves for obvious reasons."

"They'd be able to tell if their partner cheated," Stiles surmises. "Smell or lies or whatever."

"Exactly," Deaton agreed. "And a serious commitment in a relationship will result in their partner becoming part of their pack, with all the meaning being a pack member entails."

"But if that person dies or they break up like Scott and Allison did?" Stiles asked.

"They might find a new partner, the same as any human," Deaton replied. "The choice of partner is driven by the human side, around who they love. Derek's wolf will see that person as his mate, and want to protect and provide for them."

"Am I going to end up with a dead deer on my lawn?" Stiles was aghast.

"No," Deaton chuckled. "You need to talk to Derek about it, really."

Stiles nodded and fidgeted. So far it sounded okay. It was a big deal, but Derek's entire chance of happiness in life didn't seem to be riding on his shoulders like he'd worried. Not that Stiles didn't want to be with Derek - he did, so much it terrified him - but he didn't want his own inept approach to relationships to jeopardise things for Derek.

And then there was the other thing...

"Was there something else, Stiles?"

Stiles scratched the back of his neck, turning bright red. "Um. Yeah. So, about, you know, sex, with mates..."

"Ah." Deaton seemed to smirk.

By the time they were done with that, Stiles was almost certain he'd be red for the rest of his life.

* * *

The twenty-second gift was essentially mutual beneficial. And mortifying. So very mortifying.

The problem with having had sex with Derek once was that now Stiles just wanted more. Except more was a big deal, in many ways. So he'd come up with a plan, because he was the man with the plans. He was going to work his way up toward what Deaton had described step by step.

And this was what led to the latest awkward conversation with Derek, because Stiles had needed to borrow Derek's adult credit card for the adult store he'd been shopping from on Derek's laptop. That wasn't the problem though - he'd managed that well enough without permission - it was when he came to pay Derek back that the problem arose.

"Something you want to tell me?" Derek asked when Stiles had arrived at the loft, only a week left before Christmas.

It sounded so like his dad that it made Stiles wince. "Err..."

Derek held up the envelope of cash Stiles had left on Derek's desk beside the laptop.

"Oh, that," Stiles shifted in place. "I kind of used your card whilst your were asleep the other day. It wasn't anything illegal. Well, not really. Not anything that's not stupid to be illegal in the first place anyway."

"I hadn't imagined it was." Derek looked amused, folding his arms across his chest expectantly.

"It's a Christmas present for Dad," Stiles lied, because even if it wouldn't work on a werewolf, maybe Derek would let him off the hook. "It'll be delivered here so if you could--"

Stiles broke off as Derek pulled out a brown package from under the couch where he was sitting. He crooked an eyebrow at Stiles. "This that I had to sign for, perhaps?"

"Might be," Stiles agreed, palms beginning to feel sweaty. Hell, Derek wouldn't be able to smell the contents through the packaging and intuit what it was or anything, would he?

"Wanna tell me why you're buying your dad a set of anal training plugs?" Derek asked, raising both brows this time as he peeled back the edge of the paper to reveal the vividly coloured plugs in the plastic box.

"Oh god," said Stiles, covering his face. This was every bit as mortifying as his worst nightmares had envisaged.

"Come here," Derek ordered softly, and he definitely wasn't laughing now because he was wonderful and knew when Stiles needed serious.

So Stiles went, though in a shuffle of immense discomfort, and perched on the couch next to Derek.

"You didn't think you could share this with me?" Derek asked, concerned.

"Was meant to be a surprise," Stiles muttered. "Not them but, you know, being ready."

"We could get you ready together though," Derek suggested, shifting closer to Stiles and bumping his leg against Stiles'. "Besides, flattering as this is, I'm not sure you need all this."

Stiles shrugged. "I, err, had a conversation with, Deaton. Wanted to be prepared for all... eventualities."

When Derek didn't say anything, Stiles chanced a fresh glance up at him. Derek was staring at him in blank surprise.

"Oookay, forget I said anything," Stiles said, reaching for the package. "I'll just take this, you keep the money, we'll forget--"

"Stiles, stop," Derek said, voice rough. He almost sounded wrecked. "You really--you want that?"

"If you want to do it," Stiles replied, biting his lip and knowing Derek would hear the lie. He did want that. He'd thought about it a lot. It was fascinating. It was scary. And he wanted it a lot.

Derek caught his chin, kissing him sweetly. "I do. Let me help."

Stiles flushed and nodded, allowing himself to be drawn into another kiss. Maybe it wasn't so very mortifying.

* * *

The twenty-third gift was all about preventing Derek's bull in a china-shop ways from scarring any of their friends for life.

It was the morning before the pack were due at Derek's loft for a bit of a Christmas get together and Stiles - Stiles with his muffled human senses - had sat on the couch and realised quite how badly it reeked of sex. Of their sex. Of sweat, and lube, and semen. Because there had been a lot of helping going on in the last few days, and things like Derek challenging him to try watching bits of a show or a whole show with a plug in. They were definitely getting there. But he didn't need to be distracted by that at the moment.

The issue now was that although the smell wasn't great, the real problem - Stiles looked down at the couch around him - was the stains. Just the thought of Lydia's reaction was enough to motivate him back to his feet, coffee mug in hand. He wasn't really firing on all cylinders yet between being pre-caffeine and Derek's determination to make him come ten thousand times the night before, but he was part way there.

"Derek?" Stiles called, sipping at his coffee. He was pretty sure he'd heard the shower turn on because there'd been a whole temptation to go get in there and climb Derek like a tree.

Sure enough, the water shut off. "Stiles?"

"We need to clean the couch before tonight," Stiles told him, sipping again.

"You spill something on it?" Derek asked, appearing in the doorway with just a towel wrapped around his hips. It was distracting. There were water beads and general sexiness.

"Err, no," Stiles tried to remember what he was saying. "You spilt something on it."

"I did?" Derek echoed.

"Yeah," Stiles nodded, and sipped more coffee.

Derek glanced at the couch, and his face did a thing. A smug thing.

Stiles knew what that thing meant. He nearly choked on his coffee. "Oh my god!"

It was finally Derek's turn to pull the deer in the headlights expression.

"You!" Stiles jabbed a pointing finger at him. "You did it on purpose!"

"Did not," Derek denied, and he was lying. Stiles had never seen him lie so badly.

"Why would you do that?" Stiles advanced.

Derek looked shifty.

"Is this some wolf thing?" Stiles narrowed his eyes. "I'm sure they'll all be able to smell us without dousing the freaking couch. There are stains. Just imagine Lydia's face!"

"I was making a point," Derek replied, now starting to look embarrassed. "I might not have completely thought it through."

"Making a point to who?" Stiles asked, taking another gulp of coffee. "Oh my god. Is this about Lydia and Malia? Were you jealous?"

Derek doesn't reply but his ears are red.

"Lydia and I have never been a thing - very one way and very over now. And Malia and I broke up for you!" Stiles narrowly avoided flailing with his coffee. "She's seeing Caitlin!"

"I didn't say it was logical," Derek replied, looking about as sorry as a hulking mass of werewolf in a towel could look. "And you and Malia were still together for a while."

"Not after we were!" Stiles denied. "She already knows I'm yours. Everyone knows I'm yours. They've known longer than I have! Please can I clean the couch?"

Derek's face was doing a weird mix of pleased and sorry. "Yes, Stiles, you can clean the couch. Can I finish my shower?"

"Fine, fine," Stiles flapped a hand and drained his coffee, trying to work out where to start.

Then Derek's towel hit the floor beside Stiles' feet.

Stiles paused. Looked back at Derek again. Naked, wet Derek. He decided to revise his plans. "How about I help you, then we clean the couch together?"

Derek just grinned wolfishly at him and turned for the bathroom.

Stiles would go get the cleaning supplies after the shower. Definitely. He needed to protect the pack from the smell - and the stains! - but a little bit of fun first wouldn't hurt.

Or maybe a lot of fun. Still wouldn't hurt. At least the shower washed things away.

* * *

The twenty-fourth gift was, to put it mildly, a pretty big deal.

And it was a pretty big deal that began with Stiles panting into Derek's pillow, thighs shaking as he teetered on the brink of orgasm because Derek's tongue was doing special things to his ass. (And he was getting some pretty special stubble burn, too.)

"Derek, shit, stop, I'm gonna--" Stiles trailed off, biting his lip as he fought the urge.

Derek pulled back, breath warm on Stiles' damp skin. "Want you to come, you'll be more relaxed."

Stiles snorted, trying to steady himself as the reprieve helped him back off from the edge. "I think I'm pretty ready, big guy."

It was a sign of how eager Derek was that he actually listened. "Sure?"

"You've basically been stretching me all week," Stiles pointed out, still doing his utmost to calm down a bit. "I may actually die if you don't stick your dick in me soon."

"So romantic," Derek huffed in amusement, but he was moving.

"Oh shut up," Stiles bitched, flushing. "I love you. I want you to freaking fuck me and stick your freaky werewolf dick in me. Don't expect me to get all cute about it."

"My 'freaky werewolf dick', huh?" Derek echoed, stroking Stiles' side. "With lines like that..."

"Derek, please." Stiles was apparently not above whining.

And then Derek's fingers were touching his hole, slippery with lube as they pushed inside. "Better."

"Still not your dick." Stiles was determined to be sassy to the last. It was his only remaining armour.

Derek didn't speak right away, but Stiles could imagine the eyeroll as Derek rocked his fingers into him. It made Stiles' breath catch again, and then Derek pressed a kiss to his lower back. "Good job I love you, Stiles Stilinski. Your sweet talk is worse than mine."

Stiles flushed and beamed, burying his face in the pillow and pushing back against Derek's hand. He wanted more damn it. His cock had been painfully hard for too long already but he wanted Derek in him before he came. "I'm not sorry."

"I wouldn't have you any other way," Derek replied fondly, withdrawing his fingers. "Certain you're ready?"

"Oh. My. God." Stiles craned around. "If you don't get a move on it will be me ripping your throat out with my teeth."

Derek blinked at him.

Stiles replayed what he'd just said. "Um. I'm a bit frustrated?" Derek's face twitched, worrying Stiles. "Derek? ...Derek?"

And then Derek was doubled over laughing. That did put something of a damper on his pressing boner.

Stiles really should have predicted this would happen. He rolled onto his side and kicked at Derek. "Heeey, stop it."

Derek was wiping freaking tears from his eyes.

"You suck," Stiles objected, face hot with embarrassment.

"Yes, I did," Derek agreed, actually hiccoughing. "You enjoyed it a lot."

"Okay, I give up," Stiles started to wriggle toward the edge of the bed to rescue the tatters of his dignity. He knew when to retreat. "We can try this again another-aghh!"

Derek towed him back by his ankle, expression predatory. "Where are you going?"

Stiles flushed, but Derek had that dark eyed, blown-pupil expression and his voice had dropped to a huskier register. Stiles swallowed, summoning all the challenge he had left in him. "You actually gonna fuck me now?"

Derek flipped him onto his belly, dragging him back up to his knees by his hips and actually bit one of his ass cheeks, growling.

Stiles' eyes went wide, taking that as a green light. "Oh hell yes."

Derek stroked up Stiles' sides, shifting behind him, and then Stiles' could feel the head of Derek's cock against him. "Last chance, Stiles."

"With my teeth!" Stiles bitched, laughing nervously.

Derek huffed out a laugh as well, but both of them melted to moans as Derek pushed inside.

After all the prep, it wasn't particularly painful, just strange, and so special to think that was Derek in him. So much better than some toy.

"You okay?" Derek asked him as he bottomed out, kissing Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles nodded, not trusting himself to speak because he was at serious risk of getting all sappy. He breathed deep, then squeezed, pushing back against Derek as he got enough control of his emotions. "Get on with it."

"Charmer," Derek mocked, but he started to move.

And Stiles was lost then, grabbing at the pillow as Derek rocked into him. It was slow and gentle, Derek encouraging him to crane around and kiss him again as they moved together. Whatever Stiles may have called it, it really wasn't a fuck. And when he broke the kiss, he was gasping against Derek's mouth: "God, I love you."

Derek grinned at him, pulling back and starting to thrust into him that bit faster. Longer and deeper, almost shunting Stiles up the bed as Derek sent sparks of pleasure flaring through him with every thrust.

And really, it was unfair. Derek was all stamina, all gorgeousness, and Stiles was rapidly becoming this exhausted sweaty mess under him just struggling to keep up. Because his legs didn't want to work so Derek was basically holding him up as he fucked into him, his arm a warm band around Stiles' waist and his chest hot against Stiles' back. It was really Derek's own fault for teasing him so long.

"Love you, too," Derek told him, voice rougher. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"Reckon you're doing all the work anyway," Stiles snarked, trying to stay stable in the face of werewolf strength and mind-blowing sexiness. And then he felt it pushing at his hole, nearly in him. "Oh fuck, yes. Want it, Der."

"You got it," Derek breathed, rocks smaller now. His knot was just nudging in. A building pressure. A pledge.

Stiles' breath caught again because it hurt, it was bigger than the plugs, but then it was past the tight ring of muscle and in him, and Derek's hand was closing over his painfully hard dick to jerk him off, Derek's voice absolutely wrecked in his ear: "My mate."

Stiles couldn't speak, couldn't really think. He could pant and moan, and cling to the covers so tight he might tear them as he came over Derek's duvet. That was all. And it was so good, so indescribably good. Because then Derek was shuddering and starting to come in him, murmuring his name over and over as he kept up these tiny rocks. And he kept coming as Stiles struggled to stay upright for him, practically glowing from his own orgasm and craning back to kiss Derek messily. "Yours."

For always.

* * *

The twenty-fifth gift was the final gift, or at least the final gift as far as this story is concerned. It was rather in keeping with everything about Stiles and Derek.

It was Christmas Day, the morning after their first time together as mates, and Stiles had woken with an ache in his ass and utter contentment in his heart as he lay in Derek's arms. Then he'd realised the time. "Shiiiiiiiiiit. Late, late, late."

"Stiles?" Derek came alert more quickly than Stiles had, sitting up as Stiles tumbled out of bed.

"The McCall-Stilinski epic Christmas meal!" Stiles proclaimed, flailing off for the bathroom. "Dinner's at one."

And the time was midday, and Stiles was naked and filthy at his boyfriend's loft still. "Crap. Dad'll kill me."

"He won't kill you on Christmas Day," Derek said mildly, ambling after Stiles with a clear lack of comprehension of the direness of their poor punctuality. Plus he was all naked again. Why was Derek always naked? So distracting!

"He will! It's our first--" Stiles stopped, taking in the fact Derek was just standing there as he was trying to flail his way through a wash to readiness. "Why aren't you getting ready?"

Derek blinked. "Because you need the bathroom?"

"But you could be getting clothes out or coffee, or I don't know," Stiles flapped his hands a bit. "We need to go in like twenty minutes."

Derek's eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

Stiles finished washing and semi-limped his way past Derek to get to his clothes. "Well, yeah, come on, I need ten minutes at least to change once we get there."

"You need me to drop you off? I thought you drove over last night?"

"Of course I don't--wait, what?" Stiles turned around, staring back at Derek as Derek stared at him.

"You're not coming?" Stiles asked at the same time as Derek said, "You expect me to come?"

There was a long moment of silence and then Stiles put down his clothes and limped his way over to Derek, taking his hands as he had those weeks ago.

"Of course I expect you to come," Stiles told him. "You're my boyfriend and it's Christmas. I thought you knew you were invited."

"Yeah, but you and your dad - it's family time," Derek protested. "That's why we had last night."

Stiles rolled his eyes, squeezing Derek's hands. "You are so dumb sometimes. You are family. I mean, we're pretty much werewolf-married now, right?" He grinned at him gamely. "Last night was here to avoid scarring my dad for life. It's not either or."

Derek's smile was a bit wondering. "It's that simple to you, huh? Your family is my family, just like that."

"Well, unless you wanna stick with Pete-" Stiles broke off as Derek kissed him.

"I'd love to come to Christmas dinner," Derek told him, scarcely pulling away.

Stiles beamed at him. "Get dressed then, because I really do need to change when we get there."

Stiles had just reached his clothes again when he heard Derek curse. "What is it?"

"You're limping," said Derek.

"Yep," Stiles agreed, pleased as punch.

"No, Stiles," Derek's voice was a bit strangled. "This is like the official meet the parents dinner and you're limping."

Stiles paused again. "...he doesn't have any wolf's bane bullets?"

"But you're planning to leave me alone with him for ten minutes?" Derek actually sounded... nervous. Which Stiles supposed he couldn't be blamed for after the whole saga that followed his dad first finding out about them.

Thinking about last time though, Stiles didn't think it could be any worse, so he nodded after a moment, flashing Derek a big grin because this was going to be good, he was sure of it. "It'll be like a welcome to the family!"

Derek stared at him, disbelief eventually giving way to a smile that mirrored Stiles'. "It's a good job I love you, Stilinski."

"Love you, too, big guy," Stiles replied. "You're stuck with all of us now. Me, Dad, Scott, the works."

Derek shook his head, fond resignation. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Go get ready then," Stiles urged him. "Late, remember?"

"Yes, sir," Derek saluted, turning to move back into the bathroom.

Stiles was just struggling into his shirt when Derek called out to him again. "Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," Derek said softly. "For everything."

Stiles smiled. "You're welcome, big guy."

So very welcome. For everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas!! Thanks for reading :D


End file.
